Poor Sick Young Girl
by RaeynnBeau
Summary: "Am … am I free?" "Not yet Wendy; but that doesn't mean you can't come out and play." One shot set during Season 3 Episode 7, Dark Hollow. Explores what might have happened between Wendy and Pan in the time it took for Henry to leave the tree he found Wendy in and walk all the way back to the camp. No one said she went straight back to cage, after all. Warning: non-con citrus ahoy.


**A/N****:** Just watched Season 3 Episode 7, and it occurred to me how absolutely messed up Pan is; also I love Robbie Kay – he is so perfectly innocent and creepy at the same time ... So then, the plot bunnies started burrowing and gnawing at the squishy bits in my brain until I wrote this. Blame all those cute fluffy Leoporidae, because this one isn't my fault ... Also it was super awkward to write because I'm quite aware that the Wendy in the show looks about 10 or 12 years old ... Though Pan's not much better at like, 14 or 15, but still ...

**Poor, Sick Young Girl**

Fake coughing. It was unmistakable to him, but she was trying, and Henry seemed to believe it, being as naive and gullible as his grandparents were when it came to blindly helping someone that seemed in need. When she'd mentioned Baelfire, even Pan was surprised - he'd forgotten for a moment that she had known the boy; but, because it was natural, since he hadn't told her to say it, it seemed to get through to Henry even more. It would be wrong to say he wasn't pleased when the Truest Believer left Wendy's company.

"Well done," Pan praised from the sill, "I couldn't have played the part better myself." He slipped in silently from the opening, and rather than surprised, she just looked slightly upset - but then, she'd known he was there, watching her every movement, listening to every word she said ... The girl slowly pushed herself into a sitting poison, but still looked so small and frail in that nightgown. No wonder Henry had believed she was sick.

"Oh, and that bit about dear old dad …" he added as an almost afterthought, "Excellent job." He leaned against the foot board of the bed, hand braced against the twisted metal and wood. From this vantage point she seemed to be drowning in all of that white fabric.

"I don't like lying to him," she blurted out, and then seemed to regret she'd done it almost immediately. But then, she'd been his prisoner long enough to know that he wasn't find of being questioned, or people going against what he wanted. But, he was in good spirits, so rather than annoyance, instead he exhibited indulgence.

"Oh, don't think of it as lying," Pan cocked head to the side with a short pause before continuing in a tone one could only refer to as reasonable, "think of it as …" Pan sighed thoughtfully as he searched for the right words. "Providing motivation." Yes, that sounded right to him, and was as delicate as he could put it.

"Motivation … for what?" Her voice was meek, but perhaps she thought to push her luck, since she hadn't been reprimanded yet for questioning him. Or perhaps she still had the mind of a curious child after all this time; it was hard to tell, but ... He was beginning to lose his patience for this curious streak either way.

"Doing what needs to be done," his tone is a little more severe, but still congenial to a degree. "For all of us." He could tell she didn't understand what he meant, and though he had told her to tell Henry about the magic dying on the island, he had neglected to truly explain why.

"See, Henry has the heart of the Truest Believer," he saw little harm in explaining it to her; he wasn't trying to keep it a secret after all, "and _I_ need to control that belief." At that he pointed to himself, watching for her reaction to gauge what it would be.

"W-What do you need him to believe in?" Wendy was afraid; she didn't understand what being the Truest Believer meant exactly, Pan was sure, but she had the sense to know that he wanted it, so it must be some kind of power, and whether good or evil nothing would stop him from getting it. Funny, how she was so convinced he would succeed without really knowing anything except that he had his sights set on something - Pan could feel it.

"Me, " he said, taking a breath, like he could taste the power that would come with that belief. Wendy looked away, down at the quilt on the bed she sat in; it was almost like he could hear her thoughts, though he was no mind reader. He already had so many on the island that believed in him, why go through all this trouble for one boy. She didn't need to understand though - she just needed to do as she was told. "Now back to your cage."

She let out a breath, whether it was sadness or relief he couldn't tell, but he _could_ tell she wasn't arguing ... And perhaps he wanted a variety in the complacency he was used to.

"Though," he murmured, watching Wendy intently, "I guess I do have a bit of time … … I suppose you don't have to go straight back …" Pan's hand curled against the foot board of the bed before he slowly started to walk around the side of it.

"No," she said softly, fear creeping into her voice, "please; just let me go back to the cage. _Please_." Wendy shrank back into the bed, her eyes just slightly wider than they were before. It seemed perhaps she'd caught onto his reasoning for keeping her out of her prison a little longer; not that it was too much of a leap. Suffice to say that this bed wasn't set up specially for this clever rouse.

"And waste the opportunity to have some freedom from your cage for a little longer? Wendy, I'm surprised at you," the blond said, boyish grin appearing on his face; though as always, there was something dark hiding behind it that was just barely visible. Something unsettling, that shouldn't be on such a young, innocent face. "You haven't been able to … stretch your legs for quite some time."

"Please," she whispered as she started to get up; the grin on Pan's face just widened. It was almost endearing, how the young girl thought she had anywhere to go. It was the fear that he liked best he thought; the fact that she knew there was no way to get away from him. The fact that she _believed_ she couldn't do anything to stop him. It was … exhilarating, in a word. It was unfortunate that she wasn't the Truest Believer; if she was, Pan would already have what he had been working so hard to attain all this time.

"Come now Wendy; I'm not going to hurt you," he said as he moved closer to the trembling girl. Pan watched as she leaned a little too far backwards and fell against the small table next to the bed, clinging to it to stay upright. "So long as you do exactly as I say …" leaning forward, the immortal teenager gently touched a few of her golden curls, and relished in her trembling as she stayed as still as she could. "You do know that, don't you?"

"B-But, you just said – back to the cage; I-I'll go, I won't argue I just—"

"Now now Wendy," Pan tsk'd, "I'm fickle, and you know that better than most … I've just … changed my mind. For the moment, anyway." The little shrug frightened her even more, or perhaps it was the fact that he started to advance again, slowly, as if he felt no need to rush because she had nowhere to go anyway. He could practically see her heart fluttering in her chest like a frightened bird, struggling against the cage her ribs made for it, trying to escape.

"Shhhhhhh ..." Slowly, he brought his fingers to his lips, the quirk of his smile peeking out from either side of the slim digit. "We wouldn't want Henry to hear you and come all the way back here, would we?" He continued to softly, almost sweetly caress her hair, and he could see her stop breathing. It was like he could almost taste how focused she was on him. The Lost Boys of course worshiped and feared him as a god, but this ... No one truly feared him like this girl except when he demonstrated what he was capable of. He had done nothing to Wendy yet, and still she believed beyond her shadow that he could and_ would_ do anything he pleased, and no one could stop him.

Pan leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, and unlike how he'd touched her hair, it wasn't soft or sweet - it was hard and unbreakable. Something she couldn't fight against even if she had the strength of will to try. And that she had lost a long, long time ago. The hand behind her head would have forced her to be still if she had tried to turn away, but she didn't. She just stayed there, back bent slightly, completely still. As still, perhaps, as death.

With his other hand, he reached to his left and flicked the blankets and sheet aside with one quick movement before Wendy followed. Her slight body was nothing to relocate, and her yellow blonde hair splayed across the pillow he'd left where it sat when gravity settled her against the mattress.

"Please Peter, _please,_" she quite nearly begged, even though it fell on dead ears and she knew it. Even as close as he was to her, Pan could barely hear the words as he watched glistening trails form down her pale, delicate cheeks. She was terrified to make a sound after he'd warned her to be quiet. Wendy wouldn't even try to get help; she knew that there was none to be had, but more than that - she believed that even if someone did hear her and tired to help, it wouldn't matter. In the end, she had the deepest faith that Peter Pan would always get what Peter Pan wanted. Which was most likely why she said nothing else as he climbed onto the bed with her, fairly looming over the girl as he stared at her with those wide, innocent eyes.

"Shhhhh ... it's alright Wendy," he said softly as he brought his thumb up to one of her eyes, "don't be afraid." In an almost mockery of tenderness, except for how strangely genuine his tone seemed, Pan brushed away the tears collecting in the corner of her eye ... Before he took her face in both of his hands and kissed her hard enough that her mouth began to ache after just a second or so. The smile never left the impish face when she started to squirm beneath him to no avail, and Pan ignored her, adding to her feeling of futility as his right hand pushed her white nightgown up.

Wendy bit her lip and turned her head to the side when he started testing how her flesh resisted his, pushing and squeezing and tugging. She was so pale it was easy to see when her blood rose to the surface if he rubbed or pulled too hard, and he didn't need to look at her face to see tiny grimaces of pain - though he did watch, of course. Every now and again she moved - a tremble, a shiver, a twitch, any small movement. She continued to look over his shoulder at the wall even when he kissed her again. They had moved through the steps of this dance before, and she knew what he wanted from her. She was avoiding thinking about him entirely.

But it didn't matter; she would think of nothing else in due course. (1)

The immortal teenager reached down and undid the laces on his pants languidly with one hand; when he said he had time, he'd meant it. Even if Henry managed to walk back exactly the same way he'd followed Felix to this place, it would take at least half an hour for him to arrive at the camp.

Eventually he decided he'd waited long enough; given Wendy enough time to stop trying to escape because he'd won this game. Her body acknowledged defeat even if she didn't realize it when he pushed her legs apart and slowly forced his way inside of her by going rigid and no longer struggling even a little. Pan watched intently as her face contorted in a familiar expression of pain that was almost nostalgic to him, and her leg twitched briefly against his before it stilled. His grin, which had disappeared because he'd been scrutinizing her so intently, reappeared in some semblance of a wicked fashion when she ceased everything - even breathing once again. He body moved along limply with his, head shifting back and forth on the pillow so that the light played continually over her blonde curls. The only thing she did after a while was curl her fists one the sheet covering the mattress; otherwise she made no sound, no protest, and no movement.

In that moment, she knew nothing but _him._

Understood nothing, knew nothing, _ believed_ in nothing ... Except Pan.

It was the most exhilarating feeling he'd ever recalled experiencing; having someone's complete and utter trust that there is nothing besides you. It was like being the sun, moon, and stars, along with everything that makes them up. Like being the air in someone's lungs, except this was air you could take away in a moment, and return only if _you_ decided to bother.

He didn't know what love felt like - and if he ever had, he'd long since forgotten. But, if he'd had to give it his best guess, he would say that it must've felt very close to this; the sentiment he got from Wendy, blind devotion to the point of near terror, felt absolutely intoxicating to him. Wendy was convinced there was nothing he couldn't do, and there was no way to stop him from getting whatever he desired. That there was nothing he couldn't do. And because of her conviction, it was true. Belief is a powerful thing, and because she believed so desperately that Pan was an unstoppable force ... He was.

If he could gather such power from the belief of a single girl alone, imagine what the conviction of the Truest Believer would give him ...

His movement escalated even as Wendy pushed her feet against the mattress just slightly, trying to alleviate the pain, or maybe trying to move some part of her to feel like she had any control over the situation; Pan neither knew nor cared to know as he held onto the headboard with one hand and Wendy's shoulder with the other, her nightgown bunched up under his fingers.

Pan knew he had injured her again as he started to move a bit more violently, but he wasn't concerned with the metallic smell that tickled at his nose; one of the best ways to gain someone's confidence was through threat of injury, and injury itself if demonstration was warranted. Stronger power came when someone truly believed in what you were doing, but this certainly sufficed well enough. And there was a good reason he had kept Wendy on the island, other than having two minions at his disposal that would do whatever he demanded; beliefs are what kept Neverland running, and if he had his own personal store to dip into whenever he wanted well ...

He might have made a noise when she started to cry again; he couldn't be sure, and it didn't really matter. The thrill of her affirmation slowly got the better of Pan, and he moved his hand from her shoulder to her hair, forcing her head back hard and kissing her without any notion of mercy as he pushed inside as far as he could, and finished what he had started a moment later. He stilled for a long moment, feeling her tremble and shake against him; it had been a while since he'd done this, and he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Felix," Pan said; he knew that the oldest Lost Boy had been there for a while, standing behind him in the shadows quietly and waiting for instruction. Pan let Wendy slump back down on the bed; she didn't make a move at all when he pulled out of her, white mixing with red on the sheets in a way that he almost thought looked pretty. "Make sure she gets back to her cage. I have to go have a chat with Henry ..."

** The End**

Footnotes:

1 - all I could think when I wrote this was yes, due _inter_course. And now I should be shot.


End file.
